


The Wallfahrt Witch

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 17th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Austria, Baroque Era, Counterreformation, First Time, Ghosts, Gothic, Habsburgs, M/M, Mention of Witch Burning, Protestantism, Roman Catholicism, Romance, Witches, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 04:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: 1630s, Counterreformation AU. A solitary traveller coming to a small Upper Austrian village finds shelter with the organ player of the local pilgrimage church. While religious strife is on the rise, the supernatural victims of its violence  watch on as a star-crossed love story blooms.





	The Wallfahrt Witch

Upper Austria, 1630

 

Darkness encroached and the road continued going up and up. It climbed so much travellers had to bend over while clambering the slope. Going uphill, there were no trees, only low grass that was turning a deep grey in the dying light of day. Piles of stack wood mounted upwards at the side of the gravelly road, their mass wet at the base. They belonged to the farmers living in the area, but of farmsteads themselves there was no sign. There were no milestones either, only little wayside shrines to the Virgin; they were pale and veiled all of them. Long doused candles sat on the shelves at the base of the little Madonna statuettes, their votive power doused by accident and weather. Wilted flowers ornamented them, dried and evanescent, from a variety of species, but none grew on the hill itself. 

Breath coming fast, heart beating a tattoo faster than a march, Arthur stopped to recover. He had left the last town behind by a few miles. If he turned around, he could see the road he had just travelled, and further in the distance the river that snaked along the valley, with the little town that mushroomed around it, church towers vying for the sky, the town-hall standing stocky against the little houses surrounding it.

He could go back and seek lodging in one of the many _wirtshauses_ that dotted the town, but he had already walked miles and going back didn't sound like a good option. If he made it past this hill and travelled north, he would get closer to his destination. Well, if he had one at all. 

Hoisting his sack up, he took to trudging on again. His heart, which had just quietened somewhat during the pause, took to beating like a galloping horse again. Well, there was little to be done about it. He didn't want to sleep in the open tonight. Though spring was coming, it was still early in the year, and it got too cold for sleeping without a roof over one's head.

Besides, robbers could lurk in these parts. Though Arthur could defend himself one one one and against small groups, he didn't fancy his odds against a large party of delinquents. This place was too solitary, too unfrequented, so he could expect no aid. Even if civilisation was relatively close by, no one would notice if he died here tonight.

Disquieted, Arthur plodded on faster, his soles rubbing against the grit underfoot. He looked ahead. He couldn't see past the rising track facing him. He couldn't tell whether the hill's summit was close or what kind of terrain lay past it. He hoped there were households on the other side of the hill, small estates, even animal shelters. As long as he incurred no risk, anything would do at this point. 

The sun was dipping, its feeble rays gilding the path ahead with the sheen of jewels. If that light was gone, Arthur wouldn't be able to make out the track ahead at all. He could fall by the wayside and hurt himself. And there would be no one to help him.

So, though he was eager to get some shelter and be off the road, he slowed his pace. He looked around. Though this stretch of land was lonely, it had some beauty to it too. Arthur would be sorry to leave it behind. As used to beauty as he had been, there was little of it in his current life, and partaking in it seemed like a blessing. And yet needs must. He had to leave the region behind. 

Lumbering on at a pace that was kinder to his limbs and heart, he made it to a bend in the road. In the distance he could spy a person sitting at the base of a stack of wood. Arthur couldn't say whether this was a man or a woman; by some kind of trick of the light they seemed, however, to have four legs. They were dressed in dark clothing, wrapped in black from head to foot, so much so that Arthur for a moment thought them a friar of some kind. The face was pale and yet from this distance, it didn't have distinctive features.

Something about this presence chilled Arthur, but he chided himself for his reaction. Though he had reason to distrust his fellow human beings, this single unknown person could surely mean him no harm. Besides, even if they did, they were as alone as Arthur was, and he could take the odds of that fight. Certainly he was becoming paranoid, and he didn't like this about himself. Surely, the times he was living through were contributing, but that was no reason to become so mistrustful.

True, the presence of the individual that had come into view gave him the chills. He felt himself observed and didn't like the sensation in the least. But there was no reason for this, no grounds for his response. He wasn't being attacked or surrounded. So he didn't falter in his step, he didn't slow down at all, though that came hard, he continued up the rise as if no disquiet had taken hold of him.

He had almost come up to the personage sitting on the logs, when he realised he couldn't quite sort out their face. He had come close enough to discern their features, but somehow couldn't. The conglomeration of physical attributes that made them up escaped him. All he saw was pale skin and eyes so black they seemed like wells of darkness. They were contoured by a halo of lank dark hair, that shielded the contours of their profile.

Arthur shuddered. An instinct inside him made him want to recoil, but he needed to keep going. He couldn't spend the night in the open with temperatures dropping and the danger of robbers. So he got closer to the waiting personage. He locked eyes with them, and a cold shiver pierced him to the bones.

Throat closed up, heart beating to a rhythm that had nothing to do with the exertion, he hurried past the sitting figure. Though he should have had a proper look at it, his courage waned. He blamed himself for his lack of bravery, but sped on nonetheless. He had walked some further distance before he felt obliged to face his fears. This was no way to act. He had to square up, show some pluck. He had never been timid, after all, not even through all his trials and tribulations, and didn't mean to start now. 

So he turned around and was able to spy absolutely no one. The logs were in place but the hillside was bare of humanity. Just to be sure, Arthur scanned the whole area, but he still couldn't find any trace of the person who had been there before. As far as the eye could see the entire hillside was empty.

Arthur wondered how that could be? There was no house in the vicinity and no trees that could supply shelter. Where could the person have got to? Arthur had had their back to them for no more than three minutes or so. In that time they couldn't have got anywhere Arthur couldn't see. But there was no visible trace of them.

That was impossible and yet Arthur's senses told him it was true. He chided himself for entertaining such volatile thoughts. The person must have got just out of sight somewhere. Maybe they had scrambled away really fast. Maybe they were behind the logs stack. Either way it was of no import to him. 

He had to go and find somewhere to sleep for the night and do that as quickly as possible. He had no time to consider what had happened to the lonely figure by the logs. 

Mind cleared of errant thoughts, Arthur focused once again on his plan. No longer looking behind, he marched on, working his ways uphill. The road had almost stopped rising, when he cleared another bend.   
A church with a pink facade set off by white columns rose before him. It had two steeples that shot off either side of the main building. A cross rose at the top of the central gable, under which a lead window opened. It had none of the convoluted tracery of medieval architecture, but even in its sobriety it was ornamental.

Arthur frowned at that. He didn't like frills and decoration when it came to religion. Religion should be about what was in one's heart, one's true relationship with God. God forgave more and understood more than priests warranted. He was a beacon and not a punisher. Deep inside Arthur knew God loved him, but no priest would ever admit that knowing he had sinned. They'd say there was no way to mend his relationship with the Lord unless it came with their intercession. If he paid enough, they would absolve him, but he would only be shriven for as long as it served them. 

Even the might and beauty of sacred buildings was meant to encourage worshippers to be obedient to the ecclesiastical institution. Even here it was evident.

Around the church towers stood like sentinels. They were connected to a system of bastions, covered walkways and casemates. A few houses sat around the fortifications. They were small for the most part, painted yellow, with wooden shutters at their windows. 

With the darkness of impending evening, no one seemed to be about at all. Some lights shone from behind the curtains of certain homes, but otherwise the place was deserted. 

Knowing he had to decide what to do, Arthur studied his surroundings a bit longer. He could push ahead and try to make it to the next village. Or he could seek asylum here. But there were obstacles to that. Arthur was fairly sure none of the inhabitants of this enclave would welcome him. The church was left. They had a sacred duty to give shelter to travellers, to wanderers. They would put him up for a while. 

But was that a compromise he was willing to make? Could he do it without selling his soul? No, it wasn't truly possible. He couldn't ask for shelter tonight without disrespecting his own principles. And yet his feet ached, he was getting cold, and he needed to sit and rest a while.

He could enter the church, sit at a pew, and wait till he felt a little stronger. Then he would start again on his journey. That way he needn't ask any favours; that way he could keep his integrity and do right by his body.

Decision taken, he knew he shouldn't linger outside any longer. If he did, he would never enter the church. And he wouldn't get enough energy back to sustain him for the rest of his trek.

With a push, he opened the massive door giving access to the church. He had expected to hear it creak, but all his ears could detect was the sound of an organ playing. He failed to recognise the music that was being played, but it was grand, in the way sacred music was. Unlike other melodies of this kind he'd heard before, it was swelling, and sweet, full of life and soul. It touched him in ways such tunes generally didn't. 

As the music continued playing, Arthur took a few steps up the nave. The notes that came out of the organ vibrated on the air and spread around, courting his ear and his heart at the same time. Wanting to listen a while longer, Arthur sat on one of the pews, and closed his eyes, letting the song into his heart.

He heard beauty in it, and felt the warmth of love in it. It was God-like. It suffused the air and was part of him. It woke his heart to joy and lightness and wiped away the tiredness that oozed off him. 

He should have got up and walked away then. This was not the kind of music he should listen to. It was too rich and fraught, too complicated to convey a religious message. And yet, in spite of his tightly-held beliefs, he couldn't move. He was as if be-spelled, charmed by the sweet sound of the music, by the tone of the notes, by the perfect succession of each of them.

He was still in that trance, when the music stopped. Arthur stood and turned around, looking at the loft above the entrance door. 

A man stood up from the seat at the organ and thus became visible past the railing that isolated the area. As Arthur made to step outside again, he looked down. “If you've come for the music, I'm not done yet.”

Arthur tipped his head back so as to be able to take in the organ player. From where he was Arthur couldn't make out much. He noticed the dark hair and the pale skin, but no more than that. “I haven't come for the music.” As soon as he said it, he reprimanded himself. He usually didn't mind being rude too much, but having done so sat ill on him. “But I'll listen to more.”

“There's no rule that says you should,” the organist said. “If you're here for confession though, I'm afraid Father Anselm is not performing that office today.”

Arthur couldn't tell the truth. But he wouldn't lie either. “I hope you don't mind if I sit here a while longer?”

“Of course not.” The organist sat back down so Arthur couldn't see him. “This is a church and open to all.”

Arthur took a seat again and listened to the music the organist played. As before, heart-felt, passionate strains that lulled the body, quietened the mind and yet infused the spirit with a fervour that woke him to high ideals wafted on the air. The more Arthur listened, the more he was inclined to find peace and rest. The music burned bright and pierced him to the core once again. It filled Arthur with wonder and awe, with peace and quiet.

When it came to a stop, he almost wished it could continue, but the organist left his instrument, and came down the rickety stair that led back to the nave.

From up close he was more youthful than he had sounded. Arthur thought he was in his early twenties, young enough for time not to have etched lines on his face, and old enough not to appear like a mere youngster. He wore no habit, so he could not have been a priest. He dressed like a farmer, with simple yet sturdy clothing made of felt and wool. 

While Arthur made these considerations, the organist spoke again. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

The organist's tone was so open and inviting, and his manner so easily outgoing, Arthur couldn't be brusque with him, or express all his thoughts. He decided to stick to telling most of the truth, as far as he could. “I've been travelling a while. It was getting dark and I thought--”

“--that you could stay out of the cold for a while.” The organist smiled, and his whole face shifted, oozing welcome and friendliness.

“Yes, to be honest.”

“That's all right.” The organist cocked his head, his expression benevolent. “I'm sure Father Anselm would be happy to welcome you in his church.”

“Would be?” Arthur wasn't sure what the organist was driving at. “Isn't he here?”

“Not today, no.” The organist bowed his head to signal denial. “He's in the next town over for a baptism. He'll come back in the morning.”

“So how come the church is open?” Valuable altar pieces and other paintings were in the church. Arthur couldn't conceive leaving them unattended. 

“I'm keeping an eye on it.”

“I thought you were the organist.” Organists weren't exactly caretakers or armed guards, Arthur believed. 

“I am.” The organist held himself proudly, with his chest sticking out and his shoulders rolled all the way back. “I'm also keeping an eye on things.”

“In that case, I wager the church will be safe from robbers and other assorted outlaws.” Arthur looked around the premises. He took in a Madonna portrait. He shouldn't have noticed the beauty of it, the cascading brown hair, the softness of her gaze, the plumpness of her child. He shouldn't approve of the painting and yet he couldn't help but appreciate the artistry of it.

“I'm doing my best, but I'm really only tuning the organ,” the organist said. 

“That didn't sound like tuning,” Arthur said.

The organist lifted his shoulders. “That was just a simple motet.”

“Motet, yes.”

“A short piece of sacred choral music.” The organist said it as though it was obvious.

To Arthur it wasn't, he made it clear. 

So the organist explained on, his voice full of enthusiasm and brimming love for his craft. “The piece I was playing was by Du Fay. He was an excellent composer, you know. Came up with really intriguing variations on Gregorian chant. Personally I've always thought his flourishes are completely original, even if he had a canvas to work on.”

Arthur blinked rapidly a few times. 

“I've lost you, haven't I?” The organist slapped his own forehead. “And I haven't even introduced myself.” He extended a hand in fellowship. “I'm Merlin.”

Arthur wasn't sure he should share his name, but Merlin had been nice to him and he wanted to give something back. “I'm Arthur.”

The wind howled outside like the chant of a wolf. With the draft stealing in from under the main and side doors, Arthur shuddered. Churches were cold enough on their own, but when the weather outside was foul they were doubly inhospitable.

“I see you're cold, Arthur,” Merlin said, looking sorry for him. “There can be no _kachelofen_ here in the church. I could take you to the Pfarrhaus, but Father Anselm has ordered not to light any fires.” Merlin put a finger up and circled it around to indicate the surroundings. “Churches can go up in flames, you know.”

Arthur waved a hand to indicate it was all right. “No need to set the church afire.”

“If Father Anselm was here,” Merlin said with warmth in his eyes, “he'd make you a hot brew in the Pfarrhaus.”

“Don't worry about me.” Arthur put down the the travelling bundle he'd been journeying with. “I only meant to sit down for a while.”

Thunder pealed outside, echoing on the air like the trumpets of the apocalypse. Imagining what it was like in the open, Arthur frowned at the door. It would be a long way ahead till he could find some refuge. Yet, he couldn't linger.

Merlin had cocked his head at the sound, then frowned. “I may not dispose of the Pfarrhaus as I wish, but I can do what I please with my own house.”

Arthur felt his face morph under the impact of surprise. “But don't you have to play?”

“I was at it for hours before you came along.” Merlin grinned in a way that lit up all his face. “I think I'm done for today.”

Arthur took a moment to make a decision, then he responded to Merlin's smile with one of his own. “I'll accept.”

Merlin nodded to himself and gestured for Arthur to follow him. He made a tour of the church to make sure everything was fine, then he led Arthur out, and closed the door with a huge rusty key that creaked as he turned it in the ancient lock. With a nod of the head, Merlin herded him forward. Arthur tailed him up a little street lined with colourful houses whose sloping roofs were still covered with snow until they came upon a little building nestled between two larger ones.

With a little flourish, Merlin led the way inside. Though the windows were to the street, the place was by now dark. As he moved around, Merlin lighted candles, showing a simple but cosy interior. 

Several wooden chairs covered by bright red cushions were scattered around the _stube_ on the side of the oven. Around the cherry wood table was a bench on which a bread platter covered by a towel lay. 

The oven was opposite. It looked cold; there were no lit embers in it, but that was just as it should be. If Merlin had spent hours in the nearby church, then he couldn't have looked after it. But, as a result, the house was cold and somewhat damp. 

Merlin must have realised, for he made a face. He hurried to lit a fire with flint and tender, a soft glow developing. When he was done with the oven, Merlin fluffed the pillows on the bench and motioned for him to sit.

Arthur took a place at Merlin's table. He hadn't known how tired he was until he had done so. All his muscles seemed tight and bunched. His bones ached, from the arch of his feet up to his arms. The last of his strength fully evaporated, leaving him largely incapable of moving. How he was going to get up and continue on his way? How was he going to get North? Leaning against the back of the bench, he closed his eyes and groaned.

“Have you been travelling long?” Merlin asked in as gentle a tone as possible. It was almost as if he was trying not to wake him up in case he had, indeed, fallen asleep.

Arthur opened one eye. “Yes.” He couldn't lie. He had been on the road long enough for it to show. “Quite some time.”

Merlin hummed his understanding. “And I bet you haven't eaten in a while.”

Arthur frankly didn't remember when he had last ingested anything. Probably yesterday, if he excluded the berries he had found on the way. Anyway he had no intention of sharing the sad story with Merlin, so he just shrugged.

“Well.” Merlin once again gave him a vibrant smile. “I was about to make supper. We can share.”

Though the thought of food awoke him to hunger, he couldn't possibly accept. Merlin had been kind enough to offer him a place to rest for a while, he couldn't ask for more than that. “I really should be going.” He made an effort to stand up, but somehow he sank back onto the bench. “In a moment.”

Eyebrows knitting, Merlin pressed his lips together,. “To be honest, I don't think you have the energy.” He looked at the window. “Besides, it's fully dark now. You don't want to be out and about.”

“I've been out and about quite some time.” It had been weeks. Harsh weeks spent travelling with only a scant plan and hope to sustain him. Merlin needn't be informed of that, however. Still, likely enough, he could see the traces of all that weariness sculpted on Arthur's face. He was leaner, paler, and more tightly coiled than when he had left his home. Merlin hadn't known him then, but he could probably still read the signs.

“That's no reason why you should endure more of that.” Merlin's visage filled with understanding and empathy. “Unless you have somewhere to be right now?”

Whatever he wanted to say or do, Arthur's face blanked completely.

“I guessed so.” Merlin's lips curled gently at the sides. The kindness that exuded out of him made him look more handsome than the collection of his features, some beautifully striking, some plainly odd, would naturally incline someone to think him. His wasn't an ostentatious charm, but it poured out of him thanks to his simple gestures and compassionate smiles. “You must stay the night, of course.”

“I can't, I--”

“Look, it's getting pretty cold out there, you'd freeze.” Merlin arched a purposeful eyebrow. “I'll cook you a warm dinner, give a dusting to that straw mattress over there and even plump the pillow for you.”

Arthur couldn't say that he didn't want to say yes, because he did. And it wasn't just because he was weary from the road and a step away from collapsing. He wanted the companionship. He longed for contact with another human being. But he couldn't settle on Merlin for that! Because of the circumstances of their meeting, he ought to avoid that with all his might. “Listen, you're very hospitable, that's certain, but I--”

“Besides you don't want to run into the Wallfahrt Witch.” Merlin's smile faltered, till his face came to look doleful. He was more than a little pale too.

“The Wallfahrt Witch?” Arthur had never heard the moniker. He would have remembered it if he had. “What are you talking about?”

Merlin went to the window and looked out into the darkness. There was something even grimmer now about the cast of his features. “Have you never heard?” With a shiver, Merlin put his back to the window, so that he couldn't see what lay outside.

“I'm not a local.” Though for some reason he was more interested in this than he ought to have been, Arthur shrugged.

“Right, well.” Merlin bit his lip, munching on it a little as he thought. “It's a story that's been circulating around town for quite a while.”

“Involving a witch?” 

Merlin sat next to Arthur, his hands between his knees. “It's not really a witch, at least I don't think witches exist.” Merlin stared downwards as he spoke. “But in the past ten years villagers have reported witnessing a manifestation of some sort.”

Arthur frowned. That word could mean so many things. “A manifestation?”

“People say they've seen a person wandering the hills and lanes around the church.” Merlin placed his hand on the table and looked at it. “They think it's a woman, though the details of her description change.” He drummed a little rhythm, one that was reminiscent of the organ music he had played today. “Some say she has yellow eyes, like a familiar's.” Merlin lips edged sideways. “Some say she has holes for eyes instead. And some are ready to swear she has seaweed for hair.”

Prickled, Arthur listened more closely. 

Merlin looked at him from the side of his eye. “They've sighted her in different places and at different times. But every time she's spotted something dreadful happens.”

Arthur couldn't help thinking of the woman he had seen on his way up the hill, but immediately dismissed the thought as pure superstition. He believed in the grace of God, in his will and authority, but not in apparitions, in wandering souls not allowed into purgatory. That was cant, designed to work upon the fevered imaginations of those who thought men had power to alter the course pre-ordained by God. He would not acknowledge the existence of spectres. “That's absurd.”

“It might be.” Merlin got up and went to the hearth. “But I've heard so many testimonies.”

“But they don't even correspond!” If this entity had a different appearance each time, then it followed it couldn't be the same one in each case. It had to be some local legend that had grown out of proportion, influencing the so-called eye-witnesses. It couldn't possibly be the same strange individual he had crossed paths with. 

Merlin shifted a pot full of water onto the open flame, looking around for jars and herbs. “I realise that. But people are convinced she's dangerous.”

“Why would she be?” He was aware of the theory that spirits were actually fiends from hell, but somehow he didn't really believe that. If one put faith in such things, then they could as well be angels from heaven. In his life Arthur hadn't seen an angel yet.

“There's been tales.” Merlin poured oats and herbs into the pot and stirred with a big wooden spoon. “Mostly of people encountering this apparition and then disappearing or dying.”

Arthur hooted in disbelief. “No phantom could ever kill.”

Though he kept stirring, Merlin turned his head. “I know. But weird incidents just keep piling up.” Merlin gestured with the dripping spoon. “Master Simondsen saw her and was found in his bed, not dead but with his mouth gaping open and his eyes staring fixedly.” Merlin visibly shuddered. “And little Mordred sighted her one night before supper. He went to bed, happy as a clam, a spirited boy. They found him dead the morning after.” Merlin distractedly poured salt into the soup he seemed to be preparing. “Not to mention all the people who vanished.”

“So you're saying it's an angry ghost.”

As he worked the spoon clockwise in the pot, Merlin's shoulders bunched up. “I'm not. I'm just saying villagers are cautious when going out.”

Suppressing a memory, Arthur shook his head. “But why would this ghost even be angry?”

Adding a pinch of salt, Merlin continued stirring. “I can't be positive...” He tapped the spoon's handle against the pot. “But they say she was a witch who was burned.”

So that explained her moniker, Arthur thought. “Why was she even burned?”

Merlin let the soup boil on and leant against the wall, keeping the spoon in his hand. “Father Anselm looked into the church's archives. Apparently a woman was burnt at the stake some twenty years ago. She was accused of all sorts of things, but mainly of practising black magic and initiating beggar children into satanic rites.” Merlin made a face. “Neither Father Anselm nor I believe any of those accusations was true.”

Arthur had seen enough of the world to see why this could be the case. “So she was some sort of outcast?”

“We don't know much about her,” Merlin said, remembering to stir the food he was making. “But we know she was a Lutheran.”

His shoulders stiffening, Arthur cast his gaze down. “I can see why she was burnt then. That was about the time Emperor Ferdinand sought to ally himself with all the other Catholic princes, demanding the return of lands the Lutherans had taken.” Though Arthur had been only a child then, he still remembered those facts. He could recall the look in his mother's eyes too. It had branded him in a way that had left its scars. Even so, he attempted to sound as level as possible when he spoke. “Haven't the Jesuits worked hard to eradicate any leaning towards reformation?” Arthur omitted a lot of what he knew. “I've seen quite a lot of book burnings.” He didn't specify where or when, or how it related to his life. “I've seen Lutherans brought to camps where Jesuits taught them good Roman Catholic values by taking their   
their children away and threatening them from morn till night.” 

Merlin paled and bowed his head. “That's horrible. But ever since I've moved here this has been a peaceful community.”

Though he wanted to actually do was pace, scream and shout, Arthur only arched an eyebrow. “And yet as much is still going on in other enclaves, not far from here.”

Merlin's eyes filled with sorrow. There was no doubt he was honest and sincere about it. “It's sad to hear about.” He sighed. “I wish we could all live in harmony.”

“It's easier said than done.” Arthur let his bitterness show and echo in his voice. He didn't want to tone it down. He needed to let out some steam. True, it was a risk, but Merlin didn't seem like the kind of person who would take action against his fellow men. It was just an impression, for he didn't know Merlin well at all, but Arthur was still around due to his good instincts. “You know this strife won't die down.”

Merlin was about to say something when the smell of burning made it to their nostrils. He whirled round and wrapped his hands around the pot's handles, then jumped back and blew at his reddened palms. “It's burning.”

“Of course it's burning.” Arthur stood up, took a towel and wrapped it about the handle, taking the pot off the fire. “You weren't attending it.”

Trying to lessen the sting, Merlin cradled his own hands. “Is it salvageable?”

Merlin was making such a saddened face, Arthur really didn't have the heart to tell him the oats were sticking to the pan, a darkened patina to them, while the broth hadn't coalesced at all. “Yes, yes it is.”

Relief s showed on Merlin's face, pulling his lips into a smile and making his eyes take on a pleased glint. For a moment Arthur lost himself in the looking at them, but when Merlin started to appear confused, he shook the dazedness off and placed the pot on the stone bench next to the oven. 

With a spoon he tried to rake off the burnt oats, which he ladled into the waste pile at the back of the house. When he came back, he managed to pour the rest of the so-called soup into two wooden bowls. Their contents looked like sorry sights, but Arthur didn't have it in him to tell Merlin. Besides he hadn't eaten in a while and he could do with a meal, however unpalatable it was. Filling was filling.

They sat side by side, munching on their food with determination though with little evident pleasure. Merlin passed him water and cider, cut a loaf of slightly stale bread, which he yet kept dry and worm free by wrapping a towel around it. He gave Arthur more slices than he kept for himself, his fingers long and deft as they carried out their tasks, perfectly suited to an organ player.

Before too long a time had elapsed, they were done. Arthur stood up to help with the bowls, but Merlin put his hands up, saying Arthur was a guest. So he cleaned the bowls in the pail and threw the water outside, cold air gusting in when he opened the back door. Arthur, who had been watching him wanting to help, found himself lulled to motionlessness by the cold and tiredness. Slowly but surely, his eyelids came down and his thoughts dispersed.

A hand settled on his shoulder, the imprint of it warm and comforting, and he shook himself awake. 

“Still entertaining thoughts of travelling on in the cold and dark?” Merlin asked, his expression softened by easy empathy.

“Thoughts of ghosts don't scare me,” Arthur said, almost certain of his words. “And I can't impose on you any longer.”

“You're not imposing.” Merlin stepped back, stilling looking at Arthur with the most benign of looks. “I have spare bedding, and enough food to get by.”

Arthur knew Merlin was not being entirely honest about the abundance of provisions, but he understood his motivations. He thought this would do good by Arthur and Arthur couldn't fault him for it. There weren't many people who would welcome a stranger with no prior warning, offering to share their supplies with them. Arthur had known so much rejection, experienced so much coldness at the hands of others, that he couldn't fail to appreciate Merlin's offer. 

A bridge divided them, but for the first time in years Arthur felt it didn't matter. He wanted to accept his kindness so as not to disappoint his host. “I suppose it's time to make the bed,” he said, noticing that the candles were burning down and that there weren't many of them.

“The sheets are old and perhaps a little musty.” Merlin admitted that with an embarrassed shrug.

Together, they took the straw mattress from the _stube_ and made the second bed, which had to be shoved up next to the priorly extant one. The covers were thin and threadbare, the pillow flat and spilling straw. There had been a time Arthur had slept in better blankets, finer surroundings, but he had learned not to voice that. It would have been unkind to Merlin and Arthur had to learn how to deal with his altered status. It was part and parcel of what he had become.

Once the beds were ready, Merlin moved a candle holder to the little bedside cabinet sitting next to his cot. “I'd offer you a screen to change, but I'm only a humble villager and I don't have it.”

Arthur nodded his head. Taking in his surroundings, he had surmised as much. “This is much better than the road.”

Neither of them had proper night clothes, so they both undressed till they were standing in their undergarments. Unclothed, Merlin didn't look as reedy as he had with his shirt and breeches on. He wasn't sturdy by any means, but his shoulders were wide and there was a little muscle to his biceps. 

Having looked longer than he probably should have, Arthur dropped his gaze and busied himself with his own buttons and laces. His apparel was simple, devised to be inconspicuous, with no frills and no ornaments. His travels had made his garments dusty and his shoes muddy. But he wasn't ashamed of them. There was no helping it and there was decorum in every man.

He told himself time and again that though his status had changed he was still worthy, had still a dignity. He wasn't complicit in a lie, had ceased to be, and though he was taking risks, he was doing it for the purity of his soul.

When Arthur looked up from the pile of discarded clothing at his feet, he found Merlin peering at him. His gaze was shy but curious too, and there was a charge of something else to it, but Arthur couldn't say what it was. 

They started for their beds at the same time, and laughed when they realised they had acted in tandem. When they were both under the layer of sheets, Merlin snuffed the last candle out.

Arthur had a lot to think about, but couldn't manage to do so, for his thoughts rarefied and he only had time to understand he was falling asleep.

 

**** 

 

A cock crowed somewhere in the distance and light warmed him and tickled his eyelids. Arthur rolled about, his bones aching with a subtle ache, his limbs hot from the weight of the blankets. Mind empty of any notion, he stretched and slowly opened his eyes.

In no time he realised he wasn't in his old home and neither had he slept rough as he had got accustomed to. The chamber he was in was small and in penumbra. A narrow bed was stacked against the wall next to his. It was undone but still bore the shape of its occupant. His brain gearing up, he remembered where he was, but failed to see where Merlin was.

Pushing his blankets aside, he found the air quite chilly. At the basin, he washed quickly, spraying water in his face and under his armpits. He dashed into his clothes with as much celerity as he had got out of them, and stepped into the _stube_.

It was as void as the bedroom had been, but then he had known that already, for no noise had come from the adjacent space. But the oven was warm and bread was baking, so he thought Merlin couldn't be far away. 

He was proved correct when Merlin entered by way of the creaking back door, cheeks turned red by the cold, bare knuckles chafed a hefty pink, snow crusting his hair. He was humming a tune, one that sounded like the song he had played in the church, and had a smile on his face, showing he was quite happy with the world. “You can't set off today,” he told Arthur. “It snowed overnight and the paths are frozen.”

“What! No good Morning, Arthur.” Arthur quirked his mouth. “No, _Grüss Gott_ , Arthur?”

Merlin upped his shoulders. “Just telling you the news.”

“I must get on.” As much as Arthur wanted to stay, to the point of envisioning a quiet morning spent by the oven trading tales, he had a plan he must follow. His was no idle pursuit, no haphazard scheme. He needed to be gone much more than he would like to stay. “But I thank you for your hospitality and kindness.”

Merlin's face fell somewhat. He certainly appeared less enthusiastic than he had when he first got back from outside. But he seemed to rally in a moment, a kind of barely subdued excitement emanating from him. “Come have a look at the road,” he said, walking past Arthur to reach the front door. “It's covered in snow.”

Following Merlin, Arthur went to take a look at the main road. The path from Merlin's house to the church was carpeted in high mounds of snow, across which animal imprints showed. The track that went to the basilica itself was as impassable as the narrower tract of road that aimed past the hill-top. At a guess, the rest of the trails probably looked the same. There was a chance that once he got past the higher ground the church was built on the roads would clear out, but he couldn't be sure. 

He peered at Merlin, who looked right back at him with a knowing face. “It'd be risky to go on and I'm glad of the company.”

Though Arthur should rationally stick to his plan, he told himself that listening to Merlin was an equally sound option. After all, Merlin didn't know who he was, and he seemed like a good man. Though he had been deceived by many during the course of his life, he couldn't bring himself to believe that Merlin would betray him too. This conviction was based on little more than a hunch, but the decision was taken with little second guessing. “I'll stay one more day.”

A smile giving away the solemn gesture, Merlin inclined his head. “In that case you can start by helping me in the orchard.”

“What, no breakfast?”

Though the orchard was mostly frosted over, they tended to the the trees – nectarines and pears and apples, whose branches were sheathed in ice – by applying compost to the base of the plants, just where the roots were. Merlin told him he had already done this in the autumn, but the operation bore repeating. “Snow protects the roots from freezing and compost provides the tree with all the nutrients it needs.”

“You're knowledgeable about orchards for an organ player.”

As Merlin pruned a cherry tree with a twisted trunk, he answered. “I wasn't born a musician.”

Watching Merlin, Arthur was getting the hang of pruning, so he took to helping. The tree branches spread outwards; he cut out the most crooked one so that in summer the sun could shine on the neighbouring fruit and leaf alike. “What were you then?”

Arthur shouldn't have asked. If he wanted to maintain his own secrecy, then he shouldn't court companionship. It wasn't prudent and neither was it moral. He was requiring Merlin open up while he didn't intend to.

Merlin's answer came swiftly and easily, and didn't sound guarded at all. “My mother was a farmer down valley.”

Arthur realised Merlin hadn't mentioned his father at all. He didn't press, but knew there was more to the story. “I see.”

“I know what you're thinking.” With his arm, Merlin wiped his brow, where sweat had collected in spite of the cold. “Where was my father in all of this?”

Arthur patted more compost around the roots of the cherry tree. “I didn't say that.”

“Well, I'll tell you, because I trust you,” Merlin said, with a nonchalance Arthur was sure he was putting on. “My mother and father weren't actually married.” He took a breath, pausing as if looking for the courage to say more. “My father was a passing trader. He had business in Pfalz Sulzbach, mainly resided there. On one of his journeys rains hit this area. They were torrential. The Danube flooded. He knocked on a door and found my mother.”

“I guess I know how this story ends.” Arthur had known plenty of fatherless children in his lifetime. Some were orphans, but others technically weren't. “How come the church accepted you?”

Merlin leant his shovel against the tree trunk. “An uncle of mine was a priest, he taught theology at the Salzburg seminar. He was also musical and the one who taught me the ropes of organ playing.”

“But how can that have helped with the locals?” Arthur didn't want to pry, so logically he should have stayed silent on this topic. Yet he let loose the question without thinking about it too much. “People are not very accepting.”

With a shrug, Merlin took that in stride. “Aside from Father Anselm, who's a friend of Uncle Gaius', nobody knows. I moved away from my home village when I was a youth, knowing I'd find more employment here where the big basilica was.”

Suddenly the picture became clearer, the ins and outs of Merlin's life; the intricacies of his past were revealed with a simplicity that left Arthur wishing he could be as direct. 

As Merlin moved the tools back into the shed, he spoke on. “I know what you're thinking. That I'd be finished here if people knew. But I've actually come to believe that they would accept me. We've known each other for so long.”

Wishing he could be as much of an optimist, Arthur opted for silence. It didn't seem to matter to Merlin, who started fixing a loose shelf in the shed and talking on, as if Arthur had made some point or other. “I'm doing fine here. I love playing. I respect Father Anselm almost as much as I did my Uncle Gaius.”

Something in Arthur jarred and gave him pain. He tried to tamp down on his mind's attempt to make him remember his past, his relationship with the various people who had populated it, but couldn't quite. So perhaps he wasn't as kind as he could have been when he pointed the obvious. “But you still haven't told them.”

Stopping hammering at the shelf, Merlin sobered. “I suppose I got so used to the lie it's become a part of me.”

Arthur didn't reply. He had already been uncharitable enough, and he didn't want to be pitiless about Merlin's quandary. He could identify with Merlin more than Merlin could probably imagine.

When Merlin was done with work on the shed, they moved to the hen coop, which was situated south of the orchard, with its back to another house. In all Merlin had five hens, none of them was particularly plump, but they seemed healthy enough, with bright eyes and a lot of energy to them. They had laid eggs, which Merlin gathered in the folds of his shirt, before sharing a complicit look with Arthur. 

When they stepped outside, they felt the full blast of the chill air, so much so they were swift about going back inside. Despite it being March, the air was so chilly they could see it in the frost that had crystallised everything and feel it in their bones. Merlin certainly shivered and Arthur suppressed his instinct to do the same just because he didn't want to show his weakness. In the end he was sure they were both glad when they got back to the house. 

They ate at midday, eggs from the coop, bread softened in milk, and thin but fatty slices of speck. Arthur was fuller than he had been in days, but he could have stood to eat more. He couldn't ask, for Merlin didn't seem to be able to afford offering him a lavish repast. Instead, he helped Merlin sweep and dust, clean and rinse, to do away with the crumbs and to polish all wooden surfaces.

In the afternoon, they went up to the church. Its walls looked as massive as they had the day before, but its edges seemed blurred by the dense fog that was descending on the hill. With snowflakes still weighing down the air, the spot appeared vaguely surreal. 

Still, Merlin plodded up the snow-encumbered steps, and tried the door. Upon pushing he found it locked. He said he thought Father Anselm must have been snowed up in the next village over and hadn't made it back yet. Extracting the big key that opened the portal, he ushered them inside.

If the air was biting outside, it was doubly so down the nave. Uneven damp patches he hadn't noticed the day before fringed the remotest corners. No votive candle was lit, so even that scant source of warmth was lacking, and, of course, there was no stove. Arthur's bones were thoroughly chilled. 

Even the light appeared icy. It was a pearlescent, papery white stippled with grey; it illuminated the altar as it showered inside from the eastern window. More of it rained in from behind the organ loft, looking nearly silver spangled. It was beautiful and lofty, but it made Arthur tremble.

Merlin must have felt it too, for he rubbed his hands together, and didn't take off his outer garments. Smiling at Arthur and humming to himself, he went up the ladder leading to the organ loft.

Cracking his knuckles, he began to play. Arthur didn't recognise most of the pieces, though he had surely heard some before. Not being scholarly when it came to music, he ignored most of its history. Yet, he once again enjoyed the sound of it. Some of it was lofty; some light-hearted and inspiring. 

The way Merlin played impacted Arthur in more ways than one. The music lulled him into calm, into peace, while at the same time it let his sentiments wax. It seemed like a contradiction in terms. He couldn't be tranquil while a storm of feeling hit him and yet so it was. He clung to the rhythm, to the notes, and found a beauty in them he hadn't explored before.

The melody transported him to brighter realms and though he couldn't believe music was naturally divine, he did sense that it was a higher calling, a gift to be praised. By and by he stopped thinking and let himself be serenaded, the tempo marking the beat of his heart, the counterpoint awakening him to a banked joy that grew and grew.

He was lying with his head leaning against the back of a pew, when Merlin called from the loft. “Have I bored you to tears?”

“No.” A certain sense of bashfulness rose inside him and he found he couldn't quite admit his true feelings. “It was all rather pleasing.”

“I know what's lacking.” Merlin's voice travelled downwards with the echo of empty churches. “First-hand experience.”

Though Arthur said he didn't need any of that, Merlin invited him upstairs. Even if he didn't exactly wish to dabble with the organ, he found himself looking forward to sitting at the instrument up in the light-bathed loft. 

When he got there, Merlin patted the seat next to him and Arthur squeezed close. The bench was meant for one, so there was little space, and Arthur's limbs brushed Merlin's from shoulder to thigh. And though it was cold, Arthur stopped feeling it entirely, a warmth budding along his side that made him forget about everything else. It even spread to his face and ears and he was sure they must be flaming; something he could not quite explain away given the low air temperature.

With a bright smile on his face, Merlin said to him. “So play after me.”

Arthur wasn't sure he could even come close to Merlin's playing, but fortunately Merlin made it easy for him. He played a bunch of notes single-handed that Arthur could remember. Having watched Merlin's example, he tried himself. He was slow about it, but a nice melody sounded. “What have I just played?”

“That was _'Dancket den Heer Seer Hoogh’ Ghepresen_ ,” Merlin said, struggling a little on the last word. “As you can probably tell, the hymn is Dutch.” Merlin's eyes crinkled at the corners. “I probably shouldn't play it since they're reformed in the Low Countries, but I don't really care about these things.”

Arthur's heart lurched. “What do you mean?”

As if fearful of being overheard, Merlin started speaking lower. “Well, it's a good hymn. It's powerful.” Not looking at Arthur, he played a few notes. “Besides, I don't really care how you pray.”

Arthur wanted to rejoice, but he wasn't sure he could yet. He also felt a powerful need to ask more probing questions, but feared the consequences. So he attempted to play back the tune Merlin had begun, thus engaging in an inconsequential action that would keep him from airing his secrets, but botched it.

“I see you won't ask,” Merlin said, looking straight ahead. “That may be wise.”

Confusion blinded Arthur. He should dig; he should ask further questions, but the truth was that he couldn't risk to say anything at all. These kind of conversations were best not had at all, because even the walls had ears. So he dropped the subject and Merlin, in tune with him, did too. 

Merlin played on. A lonely old woman whose shawl was covered in snow came in, knelt in front of the altar, and crossed herself. She didn't seem to notice the music flooding the church at all, so engrossed was she in prayer. Merlin didn't falter because of the interruption either, likely because his music often accompanied mass and other functions, so he was used to an audience. Before long she was gone and Merlin was done too, because the light in the church was dying down.

On the way out, Merlin was careful to lock the church behind him. Without its priest, there was no one guarding the works of art it contained. Arthur, for his part, couldn't help thinking that if there was nothing of worth inside, the building would come closer to its purpose. Without all that ornamentation, people could come in and out freely, pray whenever they wanted to, thus feeling closer to God. Naturally, he kept that to himself, plunging deep in thought on the way back to Merlin's.

They had almost got there, when Arthur saw a shadow. He blinked and the shadow moved. For a moment it seemed to fuse with the darkness around it, then it coalesced into a human figure. It appeared to be sheltering in the little _gasse_ between two buildings, its visage as pale as curdled milk. Its gaze, however, was dark, as ominous as the wings of a raven. Arthur couldn't tell its features apart, but he was struck by a feeling of recognition. He couldn't pin it down, but there it was, this eerie familiarity. So as to make sure he wasn't mistaken, Arthur wanted to stop in his tracks, or alternatively go check, but Merlin failed to notice entirely, and Arthur couldn't tell him he thought he'd seen a spectre.

So Merlin marched on, and Arthur followed, loath, now that the sight was past, to look back and verify.

As they made their way home, snow started falling again, carpeting the streets anew. As he opened the door, Merlin jumped from foot to foot so as to keep warm. He ushered Arthur in, and all the misgivings that had haunted Arthur on the way over fell away. 

He was safe and sound and warm, far, for now, from any enemies he might have collected. His past was in the past and his future, with all its challenges, was yet to come. 

As night came, they sat by the stove, leeching its heat, eating soup, soft cheese, and buttered bread. Merlin read. He had only two books in the house. One was an old Latin Bible, which clearly had seen some use and better days. Before he could remind himself that his tenets weren't being challenged at all, Arthur felt a motion of indignation at its sight. But he realised he wasn't surrounded by antagonists, and that the Book stood for nothing else but belief. Merlin didn't choose it either. He picked up an equally battered edition of some ancient fables. They were in Hochdeutsch, as easily understood as the written word could be.

“My uncle gave this book to me when I set off from my home village,” Merlin said, closing the book once he'd read out a story about a fox and a sheep. “He stood by it as an excellent translation from the Latin. I can't vouch for it, because I'm not as learned as he is, but this book is a keepsake.”

Arthur understood its value and Merlin's attachment to it. The contents didn't matter, the object in itself did. He had left so much behind, some of it valuable in more ways than one, and he wouldn't have if not compelled to. For a moment the memories of what was lost overwhelmed him, but then Merlin smiled at him, offering him a fleece blanket to cover himself with.

It wasn't as white and pristine as it might have been but with the dark, the cold had also augmented. Thankful, Arthur wrapped himself in it and watched as Merlin blew off the candles one by one. Slowly, darkness took over the room, and Arthur heard the wind howling outside. With the one candle left, Merlin led him into the bedchamber. He settled the candle on the little wooden dresser opposite the bed. 

In the semi-darkness, they stripped their outer layer of clothing, then quickly burrowed under the covers of their respective beds. The bed frames creaked and settled under them, and their bodies shook with the cold. Though the bedroom wasn't as draft prone as the _stube_ , their breath condensed, and the chill made it through their bones. 

So as to work some warmth into them, Arthur wanted to stick his hands under his armpits, but doing so seemed rude to him. Merlin had offered him the shelter of his home, had been hospitable, and pointing out the shortcomings of his place by way of his actions was simply something Arthur didn't want to do. 

Once he might have been unashamedly impolite about the whole situation. He would have turned his nose up at his surroundings and condemned Merlin for being a less than conscientious house owner, one who failed to provide the best for his guests. But life had taught him differently; if anything it had taught him forbearance. He hoped he had learnt how to be kind too. He wasn't sure he was, but then Merlin made him feel as though he ought to be his best self. He didn't know why, for Merlin hadn't challenged him or disapproved of his behaviour. It just was.

He was still deep in thought and not quite sleepy enough, when Merlin said, “We can share the same bed, for warmth.”

Arthur didn't even allow himself to think. He just acted. It was the same thing he'd done when he left his home town. He went with his gut. 

Negotiating the bed wasn't easy. It was small for one, and its other occupant was a grown man. With the both of them sharing, their knees touched and so did their feet. Merlin's breath fanned on Arthur's face and his lower limbs shifted so as to give Arthur space. Arthur didn't know where to put his hands. If he wanted to be comfortable, he should have wrapped his arm around Merlin's waist. It was the natural place for it to rest. Besides, though the air bore the brunt of the night's chill, Merlin's body was warm itself. 

But he couldn't do it. Couldn't touch Merlin. In the day and a half they had spent together they had casually touched each other more than a handful of times. Yet that had come naturally, brushing close, passing each other bread, playing together in the church loft. This was entirely different. Merlin's underclothes were thin and threadbare, a mere veil, his skin lying just beneath, almost showing. It conveyed a confidentiality he hadn't been prepared for. 

There was something so intimate about the situation that Arthur hesitated. Though his extremities were still somewhat cold, his face flamed, and he lowered his eyes in response.

It was Merlin who touched him first, placing his palm on Arthur's hip, tangling their legs together. He didn't say anything to explain his action away, he just leant his forehead against Arthur's and breathed slowly. 

Reasonably, Arthur should now empty his mind of thought and coax sleep. But he couldn't quite. He couldn't say he was mulling over thoughts or ideas, because he wasn't. But he was surely experiencing a rush of sensations and feelings he couldn't process. 

Merlin hadn't fallen into slumber either. His eyes were closed, and he continued to breathe in regular puffs, but his features weren't slack and his muscles hadn't relaxed.

Because they were level and Merlin's charming mug was pressed into the flat pillow, Arthur couldn't make out the whole of Merlin's face, But he could get more than a fair glimpse of Merlin and notice the details of his facial traits. The laugh lines that were there when he smiled were now absent, but that didn't mean he looked like an adolescent. He was a man through and through, with all the traits of one, from the span of his shoulders to the width of his hands. However, he was a gentle one too, with his kindness written all over him.

It was in the softness of his mouth and in the light that bathed his eyes, in that quality that shone from him when he was active, and the understanding he oozed for those around him.

As if prompted by Arthur's thoughts, Merlin moved his hand and placed it on Arthur's wrist. It was such a small gesture Arthur should have scarcely noticed it, but the limb tingled and heat spread through him in spite of the snow surely still whirling outside. Perhaps cognisant of Arthur's reaction, Merlin opened his eyes to half mast, and they looked darker, like sodalite stones, gems Arthur had set in countless rings and necklaces and that yet paled when compared with the brilliance of Merlin's gaze. He didn't smile, hardly breathed, but there was something expectant about him.

There was no other signal, no other event that spurred them, certainly not one that Arthur could pin down. But they met in the figurative middle, their lips touched, rubbed together, not opening yet just colliding again and again. 

With each touch, Arthur could taste Merlin's exhales, could turn them into his own in-takes of breath. 

As the kiss deepened, Merlin's hand slid up Arthur's arm, went to his neck, which he palmed, the hot imprint of him robbing Arthur of reason. As the kiss went open-mouthed, their chests started rising and falling to the tempo of a battle march. 

The sheets rustled; the blankets shifted around them. The mattress dipped as Arthur slid on top of Merlin, straddling him at the waist. He couldn't see Merlin well; the semi-darkness didn't allow it. But he could make out his wide-opened eyes, read the need in them, and something pierced inside him, changed things about him, deepened his resolve, which had been borne of an instinct for companionship, of a carnal desire that sought to mend bridges, to put him back in communication with his fellow men.

Lowering himself down, he kissed Merlin again, but this time their hips connected, and there was more to it then there had been before. Merlin's hands stole up under his under-shirt, palming swabs of his back in their upwards slide, causing Arthur's lower body to jerk forward. 

It was then that he knew there'd be no stopping this, no interrupting it. He wanted what he wanted. He craved this with all he had. His loneliness had made him want to reach out by the means of sex. But there was more to it than that. In a perfect world Merlin would be the kind of person he chose to cherish to his dying day. He had a spark in him that had drawn Arthur in like a moth to a flame, an honesty, an openness, Arthur wished he could share. He was beautiful in the way of the soul, even if it was his body that Arthur wanted to map out with his mouth and his hands, with the whole of him.

But he couldn't do it, not unless he spoke out. Though he wanted to bask in the act of sex, his frenzy for touch died down. He had to say it. He had to spit it out. It was a secret he had harboured for too long, that had blackened his soul in ways he hadn't meant it to. He couldn't bare himself physically to Merlin until Merlin knew who he was lying with. “I--” Arthur tried not to think about Merlin's questing palms, his heated skin. “I haven't told you anything about me.”

“I know.” Merlin's voice came out laboured, used up. “You don't need to.”

Reaching out for Arthur, Merlin strained upwards.

In good conscience Arthur couldn't let it happen. He placed his hand on Merlin's mouth, stopping him from uttering another word, even though the tangible connection fired those fantasies you only spoke about to God. “I'm on the run.”

As if he had known, Merlin nodded.

But Merlin couldn't possibly have guessed. Arthur hadn't bared his thoughts to him. And yet here he was accepting Arthur with not a question asked. Arthur could have been a murderer, a felon, good only for the executioner's axe. “I'm a Lutheran. My father was a goldsmith in Bischofshofen, and we practised our faith in our home, without telling anyone.” His mouth jerked sideways as he thought of the injustice of it. “My parents died thinking they could keep their faith, if they kept their heads down.” Though Arthur's heart was still beating harshly with arousal, the memories dampened his enthusiasm. “With Emperor Ferdinand's new rules, it was already hard, but by the time the _Verneuerte Landesordnung_ was put in place three years ago my life changed. People became suspicious, they knew I wasn't going to church, that I wasn't taking confession.” Arthur's thoughts darkened with memories of those sombre times. “When a Jesuit and one of the bishop's guards came to my house to enquire...”

“You knew it was time to go,” Merlin pre-empted him by saying. “And my heart goes out to you for what happened. Nobody deserves that. But I tried to tell you before. In the church and when we talked about the witch. It doesn't matter to me.” Merlin pushed up and cupped his neck, bringing their mouths close. He didn't touch Arthur's, didn't kiss him, but burrowed against his neck, his breath tickling Arthur. “I think you're as pure and righteous as any man who strives to do their best. If I let these difference embitter me against good people, I should start by forever doing penance for my parents' sins. But I don't. Because I don't judge people that way. That's what I believe in. And I...” Merlin roved his lips along the side of his throat, moving them in lazy passes that still burned all the same. “And I want this now. Man to man. No prejudices, no confessionalism, only...”

He didn't explain himself further; let Arthur guess what Merlin meant. But suddenly Arthur's secret, which he had carried along the road from Bischofshofen, was not important any more. He could lay his burden down, or at least share it with someone, if only for the moment.

They didn't speak; they didn't comment. They unclothed each other, Merlin unlacing his under-shirt and Arthur pulling down Merlin's linen breeches. They kissed again, and as they did, Arthur's bottom garments fell off. 

Naked, Arthur experienced the pleasurable shock of flesh on flesh. It had been a while since he had been intimate with someone, the long time spent on the road only a percentage of the lonely, devastating days of his life. Belly to belly, they moved one against the other, lips finding necks, torsos, hipbones. They inhaled the smell of each other's sex; they tongued each other's erections as they capered in bed, one climbing on top of the other in turns.

Because of this frantic romping, their bodies got damp with sweat, warm with their constant grazing. Their caresses were bestowed in broad swipes that spanned backs and flanks, their teeth nipped at throats shadowed by the ghost of a nascent beard, and which got reddened by the contact. Their chests rose and fell with the deep rhythm of their straining lungs, skin sticking to skin.

As Arthur mouthed a trail that went from Merlin's heart, around which he had stamped kisses that felt too much like prayers, Merlin arched under him, his back a convex line of bone and sinew. Arthur fell between his spread legs, the muscles bunched as if in the expectation of a great effort. 

When Arthur nuzzled wetly at his inner thigh, Merlin made a grab for the sheets. And when Arthur started lapping at him in slow strokes, Merlin mumbled words Arthur couldn't make out. He only knew that the broken sounds were made in pleasure, not pain. So Arthur took him in, swallowed against him, holding Merlin down when he bucked, wild, in jerks that looked uncontrolled, tumultuous.

The noises he was making now had nothing to do with the soulful symphonies he played on the organ, but they stabbed at Arthur's heart in the same way as the notes he could conjure, elevating him somewhere past primal need, past egoism and into a connection he thought as pure as morning dew.

Because he knew what the morning would bring, because he was aware of how the tides of politics were playing against them, Arthur didn't finish him off. Merlin may have thought this cruel and Arthur himself was loath to pause, because he wanted it all like nothing else, but it had to be done. 

He wanted to prolong a connection he knew to be deep, not only circumstantial. He wanted to lengthen this, so it would leave a mark on them both, so that they would remember what it had been like.

After the first smothered sound of regret, after telling, promising looks had been exchanged, Merlin understood. He reached out a hand, pulled Arthur over to him, nearly sitting up. Together they worked at opening him up, at making it possible. There were moments when they fumbled, when when they got it wrong, or when Merlin closed his eyes against a stab of near pain. Throughout they got tangled in a kiss that seemed to know no end, even though more carnal actions were taking place.

As he came to sit in his lap, Merlin braced himself against Arthur's arm, Arthur trembling as he supported him. It wasn't because of Merlin's weight, but because of some kind of foreknowledge that made him aware of the importance of this, the necessity of it. When Arthur entered him, their eyes were locked, their breaths almost down to a whisper. 

In spite of all his instincts to go wild, Arthur waited for Merlin to adjust, for the sudden rush that lashed on a wave pleasure to find a dam, so that climax wouldn't take him by surprise. He'd been so starved, so alone, but that didn't mean he had to take without giving, that he had to spoil it. This was precious because of the way it moved him, awoke his heart to avalanches of emotion. It stunned him with the way it established links between that hadn't been there before, that he'd never had with anyone.

They had liked each other from the start; he could admit that now. Arthur had stayed because he had sensed some innate quality in Merlin that made him good, honest. And even if Merlin had suspected him, he welcomed Arthur in his hearth and home with no regret. 

But this was different. This brought them together as one. They were so close, so tied together, that Merlin's heartbeat might as well have been Arthur's. What they were giving each other was of the body, a pleasure so intense it locked them in an alliance, something like a common secret, a shared vow of silence. It opened doors into the soul, into the essence of them that their flesh caged. There could be no equivocation, no lies; their actions spoke for them, their union made open books of them.

Their trembling told the tale of their fear, of how profound this was, their stillness a by-product of the mutual respect they had for each other. For the nature of the moment. Their gazes revealed all that they felt and perhaps were wells of untold felling as well.

When Merlin joined their mouths and started rocking them, love rolled over Arthur together with a wave of ecstasy so deep it punctured his veins, his skin. It somehow felt as if he was leaking it from every single pore. It encompassed all, like grace, and if he was blaspheming, so be it.

As they moved against each other, Arthur's lungs drunk in Merlin's breaths, his mouth ravaged Merlin's in a litany of kisses that were sloppy because of their positioning and frantic because of an outpouring of love stemming from their hearts.

Arthur's thoughts were both centred on Merlin and being diverted to the sensations that rushed over him like a flood, centring in his lap, his groin, making it the focal point of everything. It was warm and tight and dizzying. Stimulating, stirring, thrilling, gratifying. 

Hands on Arthur's shoulders, Merlin lifted himself up and bore down, catching the edge of Arthur's chin with his teeth, smearing Arthur's mouth with the wet stamp of his own. By then Arthur's arms were around Merlin, encircling him with the will to never let go. Together they moved; Merlin in a see-sawing rhythm, Arthur's hands slipping down to the small of Merlin's back, his muscles cording to allow the motion.

By now every movement was generating a spark, a delicious stroke of lightning that took him at his most tender. Tension built up in him, around his middle, swelling him inside Merlin, filling him, till more of this looked like it would be impossible. The simple in and out was torture and bliss, nerves firing in a sublime alighting, a shower of delight, a quickening of pleasure.

They stuttered now, their bodies moving in syncopated, broken motions. They held on to one another for a moment, just enough to get their breath back, then jerked into a slightly different position, until Merlin had pushed Arthur down, until he was lying flat on the mattress, Merlin straddling him, dictating the dance of their bodies. 

By turns Arthur was inside him to the hilt or breaching him just at the tip, his own flesh erect and engorged, rimming Merlin before finding its way back inside him. He could see it all, fell it all. It wasn't obscene, but it was raw, in the way reddened flesh and leaking fluids could be. It all fanned his fantasies and yet wasn't just about carnal intercourse. It wreaked havoc inside him; it changed him, gave him hope. He couldn't believe it himself, how beautiful this was, how perfect. Emotion doubled down on him and ignited the fires of his body to their maximum potential.

When Merlin moaned, coming untouched in long strings that stained them both, Arthur's eyes went wide. He had never mortified his body, never abided to that side of religion, but he had never glorified it as he was now, never revelled in what he could do, give, take.

From them on it was a surprising ascent. He went on loving Merlin with his body, his thrusts scattered and faster, piercing and wild. As Merlin's post coital tremors subsided, Arthur shook with the potency of it all himself. He went taut with a tension he couldn't undo, if not by way of sublimating it physically, filling Merlin, seeking him with short pushes that came from his hips, penetration, friction, contact of warmed flesh all that he wanted. 

He forged on till he was raving, shaking, Merlin meeting him at his hips, till there was no further he could go, and it must hurt, with Merlin letting him slide in, alternatively taking him in at the tip, clamping down on him, until Arthur was done with a noise that came out hoarse, broken, signalling his exhaustion, likely hiding the swells of love and satisfaction that surged through him and pushed his heart into double motion. God, how could he let go of this? How could he unbind them?

For now he didn't. He left his softening cock inside Merlin, inching forward gently, just as Merlin curled on top of him, his body cooling. Arthur caressed him, whispering words that weren't quite endearments but were a promise. One day. One day he'd make this possible. He'd make it true.

His eyes were closing, when Merlin kissed the side of his face.

****

The day dawned brighter and warmer. Though it had snowed the night before, most of it hadn't stayed on the ground, and what was left from the day before had melted, leaving frosted patches here and there. Mostly, however, the roads were passable again. Proof of this was the priest making his way uphill with his habit dirtied by mud and a straw boater hat that indicated he had passed a river at some point. 

Just as the man was clearing the top of the hill, Merlin came to stand beside Arthur. He lifted a hand in salute, saying, “Welcome back, Father Anselm.”

“Having guests, I see.” The Father waved happily. Now that he was closer, Arthur could see he was carrying a little black breviary. 

“Arthur was snowed in.” Merlin didn't say everything that might have been said about Arthur's presence in his home. But there was a quality to his attitude, to his words that had nothing to do with lying. It was as if he was inviting enquiry, expecting it, refusing to equivocate.

The good Father either didn't understand or chose not to. The road took a bend towards the church, right close to Merlin's own door, in whose shadow Arthur and Merlin were standing. Father Anselm went with the road, clearly aiming for the holy building. But still he addressed Merlin. “So was I, so was I, the longest baptism of my life.”

“I hope the folks were hospitable,” Merlin called after Father Anselm as he trundled past.

“Very much so.” Father Anselm mimed drinking, his hand holding up and tipping back a phantom cup. “I believe I had more than I should have.”

“Glad you had fun.” Merlin's eye glinted with merriment.

“There'll be time for repentance later.” Father Anselm's figure had by now become smaller as it distanced itself from them. “Well, have a good day, my boy. See you in the afternoon.”

Having wagged his head in assent, Merlin retreated, Arthur moving back into the house with him. Inside, Merlin went to the stove and lit it. He put on a woollen cloak and went out round the back, coming back in with a vat of what turned out to be milk. He was bent over it, negotiating the weight of it. When Arthur shifted to help, he smiled crookedly, shrugging, thus indicating that he could manage.

When he started warming the milk and uncorking the cider, Arthur said, “Merlin--”

Merlin's back was to him, so he could see it bunch up. But he could also make out the side of his face and take in the rueful smile Merlin was wearing. “I know. You're going away.”

“Merlin--” Arthur wanted to explain. The night before had been meaningful, so much so Arthur scarcely dared to think about it. If he did, he'd throw his plans to the wind and stay here forever. But life couldn't be set aside. “I have to.”

Nodding emphatically, Merlin gripped at the stone counter. When he had back some control, he grabbed at the spouted milk pan and set it on the table. “You must travel north. You have to get into Lutheran country.”

“Yes.” Ever since he'd woken, he'd told himself he must stick to his plan. It was a necessity for his own survival, yet somehow his survival seemed to matter less to him than the awakening of his heart. “I can't stay in Habsburg lands.”

“I know this won't change your mind,” Merlin said, making as if to pour the milk into bowls before stopping and putting the pot back down without having filled the receptacles. “But I want you to know I would never tell.”

Ever since the rules against his co-religionists had hardened, Arthur had stopped believing in kindness, trusting people. But he didn't doubt Merlin, not for one moment. He hadn't really at the beginning, for he had partaken of his hospitality nearly without misgiving, and what they had shared also made a great difference. “But the situation hasn't changed.” It was even made worse by Merlin being friendly with a man of the cloth. “Your neighbours would ask questions and I'd be back where I started.”

Merlin's eyes misted over and he traced patterns in the wood of the table. “I want you to be all right, Arthur. More than...”

Understanding what Merlin meant, Arthur kept silent. Merlin would abide by what Arthur decided, though he would have been happier if Arthur abandoned his resolve. And Arthur was close to doing it too. North he would be safe, among people of his kind, but his soul would wither. What stopped him from saying he had changed his mind was the thought that Merlin would suffer too if Arthur was discovered. Who would believe he had housed a Lutheran unknowingly? Who would forving him once he was reported? He would bear the brunt of the repercussions just like Arthur.

And Arthur couldn't allow that to happen, could he? He couldn't be responsible for the reprisals. Merlin was the gentle soul who had welcomed him in his place and in his heart. If he couldn't protect himself, Arthur had to protect him,. And Merlin would take the risk, Arthur knew, irrespective of what it did to him. Arthur would prevent him from even trying. 

“I will share the morning meal with you,” Arthur said, as evenly as he could. “And then I'll pack up and go.”

Though Merlin was smiling, his lips were turning down and not upwards. His gaze was sad and the cheerfulness of his expression was a cover that didn't hold up to scrutiny. “Then I'd better feed you.”

When they had broken their fast, crumbs left on the plates, the cider gone, the milk drunk, Arthur spoke. “I can't say I'll stay.” When Merlin made as if to speak, to tell him that he knew, that they had already discussed this, Arthur stayed him. “But I will make another promise, I'll come back.”

Merlin cocked an eyebrow. His was an unasked question. 

Arthur answered all the same. “Things will change.” He wasn't the Emperor; he wasn't a powerful churchman. But he still believed this madness would have to come to an end. “Must. And when they have, I'll come back.”

Merlin looked at Arthur with dejection etched in his eyes, his shoulders sloping like a roof sagging under the burden of snow. Still, his lips twitched into an approximation of a smile. “I'll take you at your word then.”

Arthur wanted to say he'd always kept his promises; had always made a point of it. But either Merlin put confidence in him or he didn't. He could only stick to his purpose, make a vow of it, and trust Merlin to have faith. 

“I'll make a bundle for you,” Merlin said, leaving the table to give Arthur food for the road.

Arthur wished he could stop Merlin from doing that. God alone knew he had scant provisions and, as the snows had proved, the winter was by no means over. But Arthur understood Merlin wanted to do this for him, the only thing he could do. So he accepted, let Merlin make himself useful. 

He left at midday. He could have waited for lunch, which Merlin had offered preparing, but if he had then he wouldn't have gone at all. He looked back only once, and saw Merlin in the frame of the doorway, watching him as he went. After all freedom awaited, he told himself. And once he'd tasted it, everything would sort itself. 

He was blinking back the moisture that had gathered at the corner of his eyes, when he thought he saw a shadow form their corner, a dark unformed shape, a black pall of a formation. That, he reflected, must have been the mist that had collected in his eyes and that was clouding his vision. Nothing but a fleeting impression.

Knowing he had to forge on, Arthur suppressed all feelings of apprehension, made little of them, and stomped on.

From then on Arthur looked only ahead. 

 

**** 

 

She moved, if you could have called it moving, from the shadows of which she had been part, a shelter made of winter pines sprouting along the pathway, and a darkness of her own creation. She materialised before him, her essence coalescing into something definite, coherent, possessing shape.

Rage filled her when he failed to see her, to notice her. But she controlled herself; let it all simmer, for anger served nothing, as it hadn't before the fire. 

So she appeared behind him, her form close to what it had been in life. She glided towards him, silent as the whispering of leaves from another life, following him. 

If necessary, she'd go to the boundaries of her domain.

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> After the Thirty Years' War, the German portion of Imperial lands was allowed the private exercise of non-conforming religion, but in the Habsburg territories of Bohemia and Austria, the Holy Roman Emperor attempted to re-establish Catholicism by ordering the expulsion of Lutherans and outlawing Protestantism.
> 
> Witch executions actually took place in the Salzkammergut area of Austria, but these happened in a time span that went from 1675 to 1690, which is of course a later epoch compared to the times portrayed in this story. Still the seventeenth century was an epoch of strife when it came in religion throughout Europe, so I thought having a witch burning be part of the story didn't seem too far-fetched to me.
> 
> Lastly. the church represented was inspired by the Wahlfahrtbasilika on the Pöstilingberg, Linz. It really has a wonderful organ and if you stop by you can actually hear it being played. I tried not to attach a ghost story to a real place though!


End file.
